


Domesticity

by RussianWitch



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cats, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Lazy Mornings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 10:25:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13702563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: Domestic fluff, Bond, Q, cats.





	Domesticity

**Author's Note:**

> not beta'd

Q is no stranger to strategic application of his elbows, he uses the subway far too often not to be. 

The effect on a double-0 is woefully insufficient, driving an elbow into Bond's ribs barely elicits a grunt. After repeated application, James' grip eventually loosening minutely. Fortunately, that's all Q needs to twist free and roll out of bed, cursing when his feet come in contact with the icy floor.  

His socks are bright enough to be easily found even without his glasses which seem to not have made the trek from the living room. 

Heading out into the hall, he snags the first fuzzy-looking object he sees, cursing when it barely settles on his shoulders, too large for his frame, but at least it's warm. He tugs and shifts until it hangs securely, and covers all the bits the cats might attack in their enthusiasm. 

The parties in question gallop up the stairs having been alerted by the sounds of movement, twisting around his legs like the homicidal maniac they are. 

"If you trip me, there shan't be any breakfast." He reminds them, holding on to the railings just in case. It's not true of course, chances are James will feed the savage beasts, fond as he is of them despite oft-voiced protests, maybe even find them a good home after Q's buried. His glasses are indeed in the living room, miraculously kept safe on a bookshelf where Q doesn't remember putting them. 

They'd left the living room in a frenzy of discarded clothing and groping—and James must have gotten up sometime during the night, and had put them away during his security check. 

The coffee maker is pre-loaded and only requires the flipping of a switch, food distracts the cats enough that Q can deal with making toast without interference, from the cats at least.  

He's plating the last slice when a heavy weight drapes over his back, James' breath against the back of his neck makes Q squirm as the agent mumbles a greeting, groping his way under Q's sweater. 

"The bed's cold without you," he complains like Q is the one who could be used as a furnace. 

"I was coming back!" He grumbles pointing at the tray, turning in James' arms, delighted by the sight of the man's naked chest. Trailing his hands across the scarred skin, Q digs his nails into the back of James' neck, guiding him down for a proper kiss, one that leaves him breathless and James looking smug. 

"Now, let go of me, Bond! I still need to get the mugs." A couple of pokes in the ribs drives the agent back to pose overly casually, leaning on the breakfast table as Q gets on tiptoes to retrieve the mugs from one of the overhead cupboards. 

"I must admit, that sweater looks better on you," James says, "I may have to insist you wear it all the time—just like this." He smiles at Q's glare, turning away to give his attention to Sin who'd abandoned breakfast in favor of a good scratch behind the ears.  

"Harlot!" Q tells the cat who chirps at him contently, "you're spoiling them, and I doubt M or HR will appreciate me showing up to work in only your sweater and my socks."   
"You never know—," an evil grin spreads across James' face. 

"If you're planning on making an 'assets' joke..." Q isn't allowed to finish the thought, Bond's hands slip under the sweater again, dancing along Q's ribs as the spy mouths at the back of his neck. He reaches back, blindly finding James' hips, pulling him closer as James' hands work their way down along Q's belly, coming to rest under his hipbones, framing Q's far too interested cock teasingly. 

"Perish the thought," James murmurs against the back of his neck, "now, come back to bed, bring the coffee." Q let's go of him, elbowing James in the ribs for good measure before pushing him off. 

"You bring it!" He orders, pulling at the sweater until he's sure Bond has a good view of his bare ass as he strolls out of the kitchen. From halfway up the stairs, he's treated to the quite stimulating sight of James following, the tray of breakfast in hand, deftly stepping around the cats. 

"Any more demands?" The agent asks casually, putting the tray down out of harm's way once they are back in the bedroom. Q almost doesn't hear the question, distracted as he is by muscular shoulders and broad back as James straightens up.  

"One, or two—," he concedes, tracing the agent's spine all the way down, filling his hands with hard muscle while sinking his teeth into James' back, right between the shoulder blades. James hums, not even tensing at the assault, pushing his ass into Q's hands in fact, "I want you in me, long and slow..." Q says, biting his way up to James' shoulder, pleased to be grabbed and tossed on the bed before he gets there.  

James looms over him, smiling like a cat who got the cream, or possibly just Q's dinner. He looks younger, Q thinks, not quite like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. The miracle of a full night sleep... James wraps his hands around Q's ankles, ignoring the bright green socks Q knows he doesn't approve of and wears for that exact reason, pulling them wide, making Q squirm in embarrassment despite being in the privacy of his bedroom. 

"Marvelous," James says, kissing his way down Q's ankle to the hollow of his knee. Q knows he's going to have a bruise there in the shape of James' mouth, not that he cares much at the moment with the way James' ministrations send his nervous system sparking. 

By the time James moves on, Q is ready to demand he get on with things already, and eager to get rid of the jumper to cool himself off a little.  

"No," James stops him, "keep it on?" He asks, "for me?" Guiding Q's legs around his waist, one hand playing with the hem of the jumper.  

Q considers protesting that the garment will be ruined, but decides against it, finding the newly noticed intensity in Bond's eyes to his liking. Reaching up, he locks his arms behind James' neck, pulling him down until he's covered by the agent's body, getting pleasantly smothered, as James nips at his ear and side of his throat, resisting the urge to arch up and rub himself off against the ridges of Bond's abdomen. 

"Get on with it!" He grumbles between moans, reaching over for the lube, only for James to get there first. Together they make a mess of James' hand, before it disappears between their bodies, leaving a cool, wet trail long Q's thigh and balls on its way to his sphincter, opening him up torturously slow. He's going to regret demanding 'slow', Q knows but surrounded by Bond, the man's mouth sucking bruises in his throat, it isn't so bad. 

"You look lovely like this, opening up for me so nicely—," he groans, when Q digs his nails into his back adding to the scars there, "I'm going to make you cry for me, darling, would you like that?" 

Q doesn't bother answering, sinking into the sensations running through his body, the feel of James' arousal against his thigh, the fingers inside him, stubble scratching at his throat.  

"Less talk, if you please!" As much as he likes listening to James sometimes, Q doesn't want the words right that moment, doesn't want to be distracted. 

James smiles, pushing into his hand when Q cups his jaw, nipping teasingly at the thumb pushed between his lips while removing his fingers from Q's body and lining himself up. Q closes his eyes as James pushes inside, feels being filled, listening how James' breath stutters as he's sheathed completely.  

Going slow, even as a tease is a rarity for them, too many time constraints, too few chances to relax together, adrenaline and exhaustion make fast and rough, much more feasible. Their bodies melting together, breath mingling—Q feels like he's burning up, like he has a fever James is stocking higher every time he rocks into Q's body, his eyes burning a brilliant blue. 

He comes shuddering and shaking, digging his nails in James' back as he rides out the waves of pleasure making a mess of himself and the jumper, gasping for breath as James fucks him through it. James keeps going until Q is aching and everything becomes too much, until he falls over the edge as well, sagging on top of Q smothering him until he catches his breath.  

Q doesn't like the awkwardness of the untangling after the fact, but with his muscles feeling like boiled pasta, he ignores it for once, rolling onto his side to throw a leg across James' hip. 

Vacations used to horrify him, but with James around, Q figures, he might grow to appreciate them, eventually.   


End file.
